__midnightdrive @ 2005-12-12T12:23:00

2005-12-12T17:24:53Z

someone should be caught and held responsible for this bloody mess.

ive got tangles in my hair, you make me feel so pretty.

2005-11-09T16:39:30Z

[when our soul is
gone, what will
we miss?
we've lost what it
takes to really
really feel]

I CAN'T GO ON OUT OF RHYTHM WITH OUT TIME.

its days like these when
the bareness of the branches
calls to me. their ends
form the fingers
of a hand that is
beckoning me forward
to come in. and the
lonliness in me
becomes a part of
something that
is so beautiful
but full of death.

__midnightdrive @ 2005-11-07T13:16:00

2005-11-07T18:18:16Z

FIGHTOFFYOURDEMONS.

i pictured us inside.

2005-01-24T22:31:16Z

the room's too cold.

welcome to the hotel california.

2004-11-29T21:36:16Z

__midnightdrive @ 2004-11-06T19:49:00

2004-11-07T00:50:38Z

metallic red heart confetti.

i layed there for days and you forgot.

__midnightdrive @ 2004-11-02T22:12:00

2004-11-03T03:17:22Z

we've gotta make a decision
leave tonight or live and die this way.

__midnightdrive @ 2004-11-01T19:05:00

2004-11-02T00:06:28Z

i am flawed, but i am cleaning up so well.

do you miss her so bad it hurts?

2004-10-31T20:02:24Z

__midnightdrive @ 2004-08-27T21:57:00

2004-08-28T02:00:15Z

i feel like i have swallowed an egg
and it is hatching in my throat
because i am holding back hysteria.

you say i only hear what i want to.

2004-07-27T04:15:27Z

falling asleep to the waves coming in and out is like someone breathing next to you in bed.
someone who will never leave you
and someone who will never stop breathing.

dont go telling me we're over when you know youre my one and only lover.

2004-07-23T18:36:24Z

just remember theres a lot of bad anywhere.

2004-07-18T04:36:03Z

some of the results of my thrifting. :)

every star that i see is brighter than the last.

2004-07-10T19:32:00Z

an archive of my writing and photography, made by me.

there's a lack of color here.

2004-07-09T05:22:39Z

maybe i should hate you for this
never really did ever quite get that far.
{i'm a wishful thinker with the worst intentions.}

i promised i'd see this with you now.

2004-07-06T18:13:40Z

clarity.

__midnightdrive @ 2004-06-22T18:40:00

2004-06-22T22:54:14Z

I love this photo.

katy is sexxxxy.

creepy.

im going to live in there.

AND KATY GIVES YOU ALL THE FINGER. bwhahah.

amazing day.

let me tear you to pieces.

2004-06-16T02:21:03Z

you wouldnt know
a good thing if
it came up and
s
l
i
t
your throat.

remember when you found the keys to your uncle's hideout in the pyrenees?

2004-06-10T12:54:12Z

this is my future home, say hi.

the front of the house.

RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET!

i would frolick in that field every day of my life.

PS- THE HOUSE IS FOR SALE. AND IT IS .5 MINUTES FROM JILL'S HOUSE! i wanna live there soo bad. :(

so vanity's got this new gun that she wants to try on you.

2004-06-05T02:37:10Z

rum is for drinking, not burning.

2004-05-31T20:57:07Z

Boy

I

She pulled the sheets up close to her mouth, as if she was muting a scream, a gasp, or some sort of reaction that would have given her away. Anyone could have told you she was afraid. A solitary light beamed from somewhere in the room, but in the rich darkness no distance could be defined. She felt as if she should reach out to it, to offer her hand as companionship, but she knew the world was too cruel to content her. Even her double bed was too big, and she felt it. Every night. Every night she turned over and glared at the empty black beside her. She always opened her eyes because it really made no difference. She could see him there, docile beside her. Actually, she kept her eyes open so that she could cry. The darkness and the almost piercing quiet and the thick, down blanket surrounding her cradled the girl with the irregular heartbeat. The one who choked on her own tears. She couldn’t understand why it was here that she could feel, and nowhere else. But the boy, he was the one who told her she was alive. Even in the dark, she could see the whites of boy’s eyes absorbing her, holding her, cradling her. He seemed immortal to her. Every night boy slept beside her, as if to make sure she was okay, and to stay up all night for the security of her mechanical breath. In, out, in, out. Cycling on and on. She felt numb when there was light. The dawn brought a feeling of nervousness, pressure, a spotlight. She regretted drawing the blind up each day because everything became clear. Nothing was as simple as one tiny light or one boy caring for her or the rhythmic breathing of her sleep. She couldn’t sleep when there was lightning, that’s why she had always despised summertime in the desert. She had always wanted to lie outside and let the dry air blow her energy away until she could not bear it any longer and let her eyes fall shut. She had tried before, but the stars were too bright when she was so far from the city. There were too many of them to choose from, to hold on to. It was far too impersonal to sleep. She knew none of them cared for her like the boy in her bed. They were busy watching over the rest of the world, blanketing the earth. And that got her thinking on how small she really was, and that made her feel even more insignificant. And that got her worrying about whether or not she would ever mean anything to anyone other than the boy who liked to watch her breathe, but only in the dark so then she would toss and turn and try to get comfortable but she could not sleep without crying, and she could not cry without the boy and his white eyes to tell her she that was beautiful, that she was a star all her own, that she was brave, and that she was alive. And every day, she kept breathing for him.
II
The sun beaming through the slits in the blinds made her feel like she was suffocating under the duvet. A stiff pattern was thrown over them, over the bed. She was beginning to resent the clean, stiff whiteness of everything in the loft. She longed for the dark mornings of her studio, sleeping late, and falling asleep to the melodies of street performers. It seemed too uncomfortable, too new, and not like home.
She had met him at the bistro on the street below her apartment, the very same day she moved to Paris. He had a “together” look about him, and that comforted her. With only her high school French, she tried to explain to him that she was just moving in to the city from Arizona. She knew that he could tell how hard she was trying to impress him. He had grabbed her pale white hand and looked into her eyes, maybe for reassurance, and said, “Arizona, eh? How iz zee the weather over there?” She remembered that he had grinned, his teeth highlighting the whites of his dim gray eyes. She should have been relieved that he spoke English, but his presence alone was still making her nervous. He offered to help her move her things in and get settled, and she had no refusal, she despised being alone. He was an exchange student from Montreal and he was interning at a law firm in Paris Not like it really mattered. These days, no one really cared about what you were doing, what your goals were. The way he stood behind her while she covered the stained mattress with her crimson sheets and held her hand every moment he could and made eye contact long enough to be awkward cultured a suspicion in her. His intentions could not have been good, and by the time the sun had set and the streetlamps made the room glow eerily and he asked her to spend the night with him (because she had no electricity), she was too exhausted to fight off the request.
They took a taxi to his loft, but when she got out she couldn’t remember the ride. She hated the feeling of not knowing what was happening to her, like she could have died and not noticed. The loft was extremely clean, like a model home. She remembered that she was a guest and thanked him for letting her stay the night, though they hardly knew each other. “Zee pleasure eez all mine, mademoiselle,” he murmured seductively through his teeth. He was trying not to be obvious, but he was failing so badly she almost told him so. He tried to be a gentleman; he made her coffee and gave her an oversized t-shirt to sleep in. The coffee pepped her up a bit, and she felt like maybe she should give him a chance. At least she wouldn’t have to be alone. She lay on his bed, white sheets matching white shirt matching her white skin. He flipped the switch to off and you could only see her jet black hair against the pillowcase.

III
It was a cloudy ‘pea soup’ kind of day, and the only thing that made her feel any better was the warmth of the cardboard coffee cup in her hands as she ascended the steps to her apartment. There he was, sliding her television into the hallway. She stopped to look at him, to consider what she was about to do. He saw her there and wiped his brow. Walking over, putting his sweaty hands on her waist he kissed her. It felt foreign, like another language and a wave of disgust swept over her. She knew it would pass; it always did.
All that was left in the room was her bed, the lush cranberry sheets still on it. She set her coffee down on the bare floor, kicked off her rain boots, and slid into bed. It had never felt like home to her. All those nights she spent at his house…it never let her get comfortable and settled in her own. The nights she spent in her bed when he was away on a business trip made her sick for Tucson. It was never dark in the city; she never felt quite asleep as she did back home. In the city you could never see the stars, and streetlights always seemed to seep through the curtains no matter how hard you tried. He had gone to put her nightstand in the back of his Mercedes, and she curled up into the fetal position, as always, and shut her eyes. The only thing she could see was the midnight blue sky and diamond stars. Suddenly, she felt his presence in bed beside her, watching her. He had become more and more absent from her sleep, but he would often come to watch her when she spent the night away from home, with him. And the boy had nowhere to sleep. She wouldn’t let him go, though, because she hated to be alone. The French man, the one to whom she whispered, “I love you”, on the pillow next to her, living and breathing, made her feel even more empty. Lying in her bed, knowing boy was watching her breathe, making sure she was alive, was the first moment in months that she had felt alive and loved. She couldn’t live with a man who left her feeling as empty as her apartment. That living, breathing, mortal man could not fill the empty space beside her in bed. She turned over on her side and smiled at the boy and thought she could her him inhale and exhale rhythmically. Or maybe it was just the humming of the radiator.

__midnightdrive @ 2004-05-31T12:33:00

2004-05-31T16:33:52Z

silence can be overwhelming.

hands down this is the best day i can ever remember.

2004-05-30T23:36:09Z

shakedown, 1979.

2004-05-26T00:53:10Z

we all know art is hard.

i'll eat your heart out so you can feel my pain.

2004-05-24T23:35:24Z

oh my gosh i am smiling.

obviously, i was totally in love with my outfit today. and i was feeling really emo so i took lots of angsty photos of myself. i love having no homework to do.

sometimes its just about feeling good like john cusak and pop punk.